


Whichever Way Your Body Promotes

by kissingandcrying



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 13:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8669527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissingandcrying/pseuds/kissingandcrying
Summary: “Damnit, Scamander, what have I told you about bringing into the kitchen things we shouldn’t touch?” Graves asks him. There’s a pink, lubricating film over his fingers that he’s never seen before. “What is it?” “Wash it off.” Newt says anxiously. When Graves just blinks at him, Newt goes a bit frazzled and yells, “Quickly!”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Short prompt fill for sex-pollen. There are a few changes - first, it's 'sex pollen' in a way lol. Not necessarily the prompt I was given, I know. And they're in an established relationship. And it's a bit short, yes. But I hope it's still enjoyable! (This is sex pollen, so all dubious consent warnings may apply, though I hope it doesn't read like that).

 

“ _D_ _on’t touch it_ … Graves.”

A forewarning can’t be considered a forewarning if it comes _after_ the damage is done and Newt doesn't seem to be understanding that. Graves is actively terrified as he yanks his hand from the interior of the bowl he’s just decided to poke around in.

The truth is that he’d known there would be some adjustments to Newt’s moving in, but he hadn’t added heart attack to the list of possible deaths following the decision. Honestly, that's much more likely to get him before whatever's sitting on his hands does. 

“Damnit, Scamander, _what_ have I told you about bringing into the kitchen things we _shouldn’t_ touch?” Graves asks him. There’s a pink, lubricating film over his fingers that he’s never seen before. “What is it?” 

“Wash it off.” Newt says anxiously. When Graves just blinks at him, Newt goes a bit frazzled and yells, “Quickly!”

Getting an answer to his previous question becomes a secondary priority. Graves almost trips in his haste to get to the sink, and then doesn’t even pull up his coat sleeves after he’s turned on the tap and shoved his hands underneath the running water. There hadn’t been too much of the substance on him, so perhaps the effects (whatever they are) will be muted.

His hope slowly diminishes, however, as Newt comes over to him and takes his hands under the water, rubbing them for him.

“Abath powder. I’ve been working to turn it into a liquid.” Newt grunts, turning the cold water off and almost scolding both of their hands. Graves tries to tug them back, but Newt looks nervously at him and holds them in place. “You have to wash it off with very hot water, I’m afraid.”

“What the hell is an Abath?”

“It’s a close relative of the unicorn. Both have horns which produce powder. It can be used as an antidote for poison,” Newt says quietly. His rubbing on Graves’ hands becomes almost desperate, but after a moment he stops completely and shakes his head. “It’s also an extremely potent aphrodisiac, the effects of which take only minutes to begin. The diluted powder provides what I believe to be an unsafe amount of hormones, but I’ve never tested it on humans before.”

Graves sighs and dips his head, trying to relax. A safe aphrodisiac he can work with. An unknown, but potent, aphrodisiac with potentially dangerous side effects, he’s not so comfortable with.

“Alright. So what do you propose we do?”

After a second, Newt says, “We’ll have to take care of it in whichever way your body promotes.”

 

* * *

 

His body promotes a very _indecent_ solution.

Ten minutes is all it takes for Graves to be too hot, too aggravated, and almost neurotically horny. He can’t stop licking his lips because they’ve gone dry. He begins peeling himself out of his clothes because he’s sweating his weight in water. The only thoughts he seems willing to entertain are ones of Newt on his back, being rammed through by Graves’ thick cock, begging for more.

He lays down on the bathroom floor because it’s cool, and after another five minutes has passed, that’s where Newt finds him. The man has bought him a glass of water. 

“Are you still alive?”

“Unfortunately,” Graves says. He’s starkers, face down which is unfortunate because he can’t seem to stop humping the floor. The warm and stiff line of his dick is trapped between his abdomen and the tile, and the friction from the slight movement of his hips is sending tingles up into his body. It’s almost painful how badly he wants to fuck something right now. “This won’t work.”

“You should drink some water, and then you should…” Newt trails off. After a moment, he courageously says, “You should touch yourself. It’ll help.”

There’s an idea that lights up the primitive part of Graves’ brain. He rolls over and exposes himself, watching Newt’s face go a fascinating pink after he looks down his body and sees the curved line of Graves’ cock pressed up close to his belly. It’s dripping - Graves can feel the head of it leaking over his thatch of abdominal hair, he doesn’t even need to look away from Newt to know how his body is behaving.

“You could touch me,” The goblin in Graves’ brain prompts him to say. It’s tactless and straightforward, but it works.

“Could I?” Newt asks. He smiles softly and then gets that curious glint in his eye. In a strange display, he bites his bottom lip and reaches out with his free hand. He’s in just his vest, undershirt and trousers, and he looks as dashing as he does determined.

Newt’s hand has barely lifted Graves’ heavy cock and wrapped itself around the girth of him when Graves tips his head back, moans, and spurts all over himself, dick apparently overly-sensitive to Newt’s touch. He shocks himself with coming so quickly, but finds that his erection doesn’t flag in the slightest, and the pressure of a fist wrapped around him still feels just as good as it did a moment before.

Newt pumps him slowly a few times, hand dragging up and down his shaft evenly, spreading his own release over the hot skin of him in strokes that become more and more firm until they're the perfect pressure.

“That’s it,” Graves groans. His body feels so tense, and he starts to push his hips upwards, grinding into Newt’s fist. “That’s it, that’s it _.”_

“Perhaps I should use my mouth like last time.” Newt muses quietly, and Graves imagines it. His body goes stiff and he shoots off a second time, come dribbling it’s way down over Newt’s fingers and then dripping from his knuckles as the man holds him through the aftershocks. “You’ll need more than two orgasms, I’m sure. I think you should drink so that it won't be so hard on your body.”

“And then I have to touch myself?” Graves wheezes, already reaching down to grab himself when Newt lets him go and offers him the glass. He immediately starts stroking his length. His hands are shaking awfully and when he looks down at himself, the head of his cock is a violent red, swollen so angrily despite having already been used twice. Graves grunts and lets his aggravation guide his speed, violently stripping his cock until his spine starts tingling and his toes curl.

It only takes twenty seconds, but the third one is startlingly powerful and he rolls over onto his side, curling in on himself as the convulsions of an indecently long orgasm start.

By the time he’s coming down, Newt can only say, “Yes, you certainly need to be drinking water.”

 

* * *

 

Newt leaves for ten minutes. He’s likely in his suitcase trying to quickly find an antidote to the effects of the powder-turned-liquid, but as it turns out, ten more minutes is just enough time for Graves to become a wretched shell of a man.

He can barely walk. He spends a lot more effort than he means carrying himself to where he knows Newt keeps his creature infested case, and he’s not at all surprised to find it open with the warm light of Newt’s shed glowing from inside.

“Newt,” Graves croaks.

Newt is immediately scrabbling back up the ladder, hair in disarray and cheeks still that cherry colour from earlier. He startles when he finds Graves standing right above him.

“Oh! I’m… yes, alright, uhm. Just a moment.” He stutters. He looks back behind him forlornly before tugging himself up out of the briefcase and crawling away from it’s lid.

Seeing him on his hands and knees must be what sets Graves off, because he grabs Newt by his arm and yanks him upright, walking him backwards to the closest wall and pressing him up against it. He kisses Newt in apology, but uses the position to show his intentions, rubbing their cocks together as if it’s obvious why he’s manhandled him to the side of the room. He must look ridiculous, still naked as the day he'd been born, but apparently prepared to look ridiculous if it meant fucking Newt against a wall. 

“No… not like this. You’ll exhaust yourself.” Newt begs. He still allows Graves to grab him under his thighs and hoist him up, and he still wraps his legs around Graves’ waist so that he won’t slip and fall, but he admonishes, “You’ll dehydrate yourself.”

Newts objections on behalf of Graves’ health fall on deaf ears.  

Graves holds the man firmly in place and noses at his jaw, hips already moving back and forth between the frame of Newt’s legs. The man’s trousers are tight like this, and they show the bulge of his own trapped cock so that every time Graves pushes forward, he can see between them where they're rubbing hard against one another.

“Your eyes have gone red.” Newt breathes. He’s clinging to Graves’ shoulders and digging in as hard as he can. His hips aren’t rolling at all because he’s trapped between Graves’ erratic humping and the sturdy wall against his back, but after a moment he drops his head back against the wall and makes a short, breathy sound, forgetting his discovery. He wants this as badly as Graves wants this. 

The remainder of Newt’s sounds are all encouraging. He doesn’t speak any less or more than usual, but his being there at all gives Graves something to focus on. He watches Newt’s eyes roll back into his head more times than he can count, feels Newt’s fingers bruising his shoulders, heels ruining the back of his thighs, and then his short and muted cry when he comes in his trousers, leaning forward to hide his embarrassment in the crevice of Graves’ neck.

Not surprisingly, Graves comes too.

* * *

 

It’s a testament to the potency of the Abath’s powder that Graves _does_ get Newt on his back.

Newt takes it almost blindly because despite being overly sensitive, he’s receptive to Graves’ touch. He likes the man’s fingers dancing their way between his legs, and then pressing themselves up between his cheeks. He likes closing his eyes and moving his hips just slightly so that Graves knows it’s okay, even when his first finger slips up into that tight, hot space and Newt’s body flutters angrily around him. He likes Graves working his way up to two, three fingers and then fucking him with them, leaning down between his legs to tongue at Newt's cock while he does it.

But Graves is ruined by his own primitive urges. He doesn’t have the same level of patience for positions that lead to only one of them getting off. He growls something awful in the back of his throat and removes his fingers, sees how slick they are with lube that’d come from Newt’s shed somewhere (and that the man had promised was safe), and decides that he needs in. Now.

Newt spreads his legs invitingly, but his face betrays his confidence. His eyebrows furrow just enough that Graves recognizes it for the concern that it is.

“Are you…” Graves starts, swallowing around the naked desire that’s encouraging him to just slide right into the man’s body and make him take it. “Are you okay with this?”

“Of course I am.” Newt tells him quietly. “You need this.”

“I can find other ways to get off, but _god_ , I want you so badly right now.”

Newt smiles and says, “Then it's fine.”

Graves wants it to be easy on Newt’s body, but his hands take Newt’s calves and prop them up over his shoulders, so that the back of the man’s thighs are pressed right up against Graves' chest when he leans in close and all but bends the man in half. The position makes it easy to line himself up and nudge forward firmly until his cockhead catches and slides past the tight muscle of Newt’s body.

The sensation is overwhelming for both of them. Newt cries, “Oh god.” and Graves makes a loud, wounded noise. He comes from the pressure around what little of his cock is hidden in Newt’s warmth. The sensation is strange, and he can feel his own release leaking out around the two of them despite the tight fit - it’s overwhelmingly arousing.

It takes a second for Graves to collect himself. The first thing he says is, "Christ, I'm sorry."

“It's alright. It's the powder. Just go slowly if possible.” Newt whispers.

Anything is possible when it comes to Newt. Graves follows his request and pushes forward so slowly that it takes an eternity to bottom out. Newt doesn’t once say ‘stop’, not even when Graves is filling him completely. He looks dazed - his eyes have a glassy sheen to them that only happens when he’s devastated, and his lips are parted like he’s shocked by the feeling of Graves being so close.

This isn’t something they do often because it takes a lot of time for Newt’s body to loosen up around him. But while Graves is battling the urge to move his hips, work them in circles and get in deeper, Newt is relaxing, reaching around himself so that he can feel the familiar ridges and curves of Graves’ body.

After a moment, Graves holds Newt’s thighs and pulls out. He pushes back in experimentally and Newt just watches his face and breathes. He breathes on every subsequent push and pull that Graves gives him, until he becomes comfortable enough for his eyes to flutter closed, for his head to tilt sideways, and for his calves to flex on Graves’ shoulders.

“There you go,” Graves says.

Taking care of Newt is second nature. Graves starts with what he knows the man likes, even though his body is telling him he can do more. He's not slow, but he uses enough force and speed to make his efforts noticeable. Without the hindrance of stamina cutting them short, it’s easier to take his time and keep going (even when he shudders and comes again from Newt flexing around him - he hates being this easy, honestly). He sweats a disgusting amount, and their bodies slide together in a way that would have repulsed him on any other day, but he’s so close to Newt that he can feel the man’s breath on his lips, can hear the whines falling from his mouth, can see the strained tendons of his neck when he gets close to coming and tilts his head back looking for a place to breathe, and that's when Graves decides to fuck him fast enough to rock the entire bed frame, to make it squeak and groan beneath them as they breathe harshly together, and then into each others’ mouths.

Of course Graves comes first, and blessedly, he stays as hard as granite.

But he pulls out with a sickening pop that resonates in the otherwise quiet room and turns Newt over onto his belly before he can protest, pulling him up by his hips and slipping right back in.

“ _Percy_ ,” Newt groans, the vibration jogged out of his chest by Graves’ pushing so roughly back into him. Newt’s hand flies between his legs and he buries his face into their pillows, stroking himself quickly as Graves all but pushes him up the bed trying to crawl into his body. It smells and sounds like sex - Graves is so overcome by it that he leans down and kisses the back of Newt’s neck, and then he reaches around and covers Newt’s hand with his own, urging him to stroke faster, and faster, and faster until the man yells into the fabric of the pillowcase and comes all over their bed.

Newt’s body squeezes him so tightly, Graves feels trapped. He huffs and bites at the skin in front of him, coming yet again.

Graves will admit to being a little bit shocked (and a little unimpressed) by how hard he remains.

 

* * *

 

The solution, it turns out, is a lot of sex and… apple juice.

In a desperate effort to rehydrate Graves with something other than water, Newt sneaks off to the kitchen and makes them both a glass. Graves strokes himself lazily as he watches the man disappear from the room, and is still stroking himself when Newt returns with two glasses in hand.

“I’d like for you to drink this.”

“I can’t.” Graves says. He’s lost his voice and so it barely registers.

Newt looks at him and says, “Please. I don’t want you to die.”

“I won’t die.” Graves tells him, but he feels like it’s not true. He’s come so many times his balls ache, and to think that he’s still stiff as wood after as many orgasms as he’s had is actually distressing. One lesson in life he’d quickly have to get through his thick skull is that living with a man like Newt, you couldn’t touch _anything_ you didn’t put out. But he'd already done it, and so he'd have to ride that train of consequences to hell. 

Newt hands him the glass anyway and says, “Then humour me.”

And so Graves humours him, and it’s the best bit of humouring he’s ever done. He takes one sip of the apple juice and his entire body goes cold. From his head downwards, he begins to lose the desperate feeling he’d been consumed by, replaced instead by a lack of energy and a completely clear idea of where he is and who he's with. He still feels the desire in his toes - but it’s the same basic desire that he feels whenever he’s around Newt.

“Are you alright?” Newt asks.

“What is this?” Graves asks suddenly. “What did you put in this?”

“It’s…” Newt starts, eyes widening when he looks down at Graves’ lap and sees his softening cock. As if he doesn’t trust himself, he looks down at his glass of apple juice and says, “I’m… it’s… It’s only apple juice. I’ve just bought it a few days ago.”

Graves downs his own glass and then blinks a few times. He wonders if his eyes are still red, or if this will help everything go back to rights. Newt reaches out and holds his face, watching his eyes closely and saying, “They’re still red, but I’m sure that can be taken care of. Eyes are fixable. Are the others side effects going away?” and with a quick lean forward, he leans in and kisses Graves’ nose. "God, I hope they are."

When he tries to pull away, Graves winds an arm around his neck and holds him still, tilting his head and and kissing Newt properly. He’s ecstatic, even if the solution is an act of Mrs. serendipity herself, and he discards his own empty cup, ignoring the wet cold of Newt spilling his drink over Graves’ bare body as he tugs the man forward. Newt makes a displeased noise, but kisses Graves back all the same.

This time when Graves' cock springs to life, they both politely ignore it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to visit me, you can come to litindecency.tumblr.com - DTT (down to talk) lol!


End file.
